Hypothetical
by wtvoc
Summary: A retelling of a love story; collaboration by cathmarchr and withthevampsofcourse.
1. Chapter 1

**hello! this is a new _bones _collaboration with the inestimable cathmarchr.**

**warning: this is alternate universe. let us be clear: this is not your typical _bones _story. we hope you enjoy it! -cathmarchr & wtvoc**

**Hypothetical, Chapter 1**

For the fourteenth time, Dr. Temperance Brennan deleted the entire paragraph.

She simply could not understand how a brilliant idea of hers could be so difficult in execution. She had written page upon page of dissertations, publications, lectures.

How could writing fiction prove to be more difficult than the truth?

With a sigh, she closed her MacBook, rubbing her temples and glancing around her empty apartment. It had been two whole weeks since he'd been there, and she looked forward to the distraction his impending arrival would bring.

Perhaps she would suggest vigorous sexual activity. He would certainly not decline that sort of invitation. He never had in the past.

For years they'd been at this, the back-and-forth, hot and cold flirtation. But she simply did not want to "take it to the next level" as he did, despite their shared history. Her numerous sexual partners over the years bothered him, she knew, but she had told him from the very beginning that she did not give credence to the idea that she could be monogamous. He should have known better.

In many ways, she regretted the fact that they had something that would forever tie them together, keep them bound as two people. But she would never regret what they actually did. Bringing something this important to the world would forever be her largest contribution to human history, and she would never really regret it. Ever.

How could she?

But there were times when she caught him looking at her in a certain way, with a certain intensity that she could quantify, if not name - and in those times she felt as close to guilty as she got.

She justified it by repeating to herself that she had warned him. And she was okay with her own justifications.

The phone rang. She looked at the caller identification - the lab - and studiously ignored it. It was Sunday. She would answer whatever demand was waiting for her in the morning. Probably some new remains from the mass grave in the Czech Republic or a grad student wanting references.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a jostling of her doorknob. And she felt all of the frustrations about her failing novel and irritations at work melt away in a flash of anticipatory joy.

They were here.

"Parker!" She was perpetually surprised at the irrational warmth she always felt at seeing his chubby, wonderful face; his eyes like his father's, his smile like his mother's. And there was his father, looking at her with the ever-present combination of caution and desire.

"Mama!" Parker came toddling over, his uneven gait completely normal as far as development went, and she noted with satisfaction that he had grown a fraction in her absence. She scooped him up and allowed a wet kiss to be smacked on her mouth.

"I missed you, Parker," she whispered into his neck, his clean smell instantly taking her back through three years of his development. He also smelled faintly of fast food French fries and she frowned at the tall man standing next to them. He knew she disapproved of mass-market franchise food, yet he insisted on filling her child with it. She looked up at him and opened her mouth to argue.

"Save it, Mama. He just wanted the toy. And hello to you, too." He ruffled Parker's hair and made his way to the couch, flipping the television on.

Still hugging her boy she walked over and shut the door. She couldn't find the will to be irritated. She was too glad to see her son again. Two weeks had been far too long – much longer than the every-other-weekend arrangement they'd settled on once Parker had reached eighteen months of age. Parker would spend every other weekend with his dad, who would have access to her apartment provided she chose the boy's learning schedule, educational path, and enrichment activities. The arrangement suited them both.

Plus, it meant she'd have a constant source of sexual gratification should she ever need it. And she often did.

She might need it tonight. She could play nice. She walked over to the couch and sat down, settling the squirming boy on her lap. He happily grabbed her arm and cuddled into her embrace.

"Was he good?" she asked.

"Always. Like his father." His grin was an attempt at enticement, but she wasn't interested just yet. She grabbed the remote control from his hand and flipped it from ESPN to the Baby Development Channel.

"You know we don't watch sports in this house, Peter."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Seeley Booth wiped the steam off the bathroom mirror with the palm of his hand and stared at himself. Big circles under his eyes. Bad way to start a week. But this Cleo Eller case was driving him to distraction.

As was the anthropologist. As soon as they'd found that sunken skeleton in the lake at Arlington National Cemetery, Cullen got all over him to go make nice with the bone lady and get her to ID the body. Yesterday, if possible. Booth had wheedled unsuccessfully to let the FBI forensic techs give it a try first. "Quit wasting time," Cullen had snapped at him. "She solved the Arrington case last year without breaking a sweat – What's your problem?"

"Oh, nothing, sir, just that I got wasted with her one night and we made out and then had a huge fight and she slapped me and we shouted at each other across the bullpen that we never wanted to see each other again," Booth thought but didn't say.

So he stalked off with his wounded pride to convince Brennan to solve another murder for him. Uhh – _with_ him, that is.

He tried gallantry first, swooping in and flashing his badge to extract her from a terrifying Homeland Security interrogation. Yeah, that ended up biting him in the ass. He'd tried being bossy next, but she was stubborn as a mule and too smart to be intimidated. So, with gritted teeth, he'd made the deal – "full participation in the case, not just labwork."

Now he was saddled with her for the duration of the case. She was always saying the wrong thing to the wrong people, or scoffing at his intuition, or otherwise driving him berserk as they grappled to keep each other under control.

He told himself it was the power struggle that was forever getting him hard when he was in the same room with her. She wanted a pissing contest? He could piss further than she could.

And he was perfectly satisfied with the relationship he was in, thankyouverymuch. So it had nothing to do with that.

He yanked open the medicine cabinet and began hunting for his razor amongst all the female crap. Why did women need so much stuff? A man needed a toothbrush and a razor. And toothpaste and shaving cream, of course. Aftershave, maybe a little hair product. Cologne. Dammit, there went his point.

His eyes landed on the round plastic compact wedged next to the saline solution and he scowled. She'd said it a few months ago, in the same tone of voice she used when she asked him to take out the trash, "What do you think about having a baby?"

He'd reacted like a caged animal. Panicking, get-me-outta-here, ready to gnaw his own hand off to get away from her and her calm suggestion. He was appalled to learn that he was the kind of guy who actually said, "I'm not ready for that level of commitment."

He pulled the birth control packet down off the shelf, turning it over in his hands. He'd promised her he'd think about it. Mostly, though, he'd just been nurturing his revulsion at the whole idea.

He popped the little catch and studied the pills inside. There were three missing.

His blood ran cold as he stared at the three empty plastic shells. SUN MON TUE. Wednesday's pill sat there, waiting patiently to be swallowed.

Today was Monday. Why hadn't she taken Wednesday through Sunday? Then a worse question occurred to him.

He flew into the kitchen, the pills still in his hand. She was making coffee, her long blonde hair still tangled with sleep.

"What the hell is this?" he yelled.

She turned and stared. "My birth control," she said evenly. "Why are you just standing there in a towel, dripping all over the floor?"

He opened the packet and showed her the contents. "How long have you not been taking it?"

For a long moment, he watched her calculate whether to play dumb, or lie, or 'fess up.

"Three weeks," she finally admitted, truthfully.

He hurled the compact at the refrigerator. It hit with a clattery thwack and the lid popped off. One half bounced off under the kitchen table and the other skittered to a stop near the oven.

"This is your idea of 'let's keep talking about this'?" he demanded. "Tricking me into having a kid? Lying to me?"

He stormed back to their room, threw on his suit, and stuffed a few essentials into a duffel bag.

"Where are you going?" she asked quietly from the doorway.

"I don't know, Rebecca," he snapped as he stormed past her. "I need to think."

**see? AU doesn't have to be quite so painful. we hope you stick with us!**


	2. Chapter 2

**special thanks to to adangeli and 2BBornot2BB, the betas for this here story. **

**thank you for reading this… i honestly don't know what we're thinking! **

Dr. Brennan did not often relish getting up early on a Monday, but when her alarm went off at five, she smiled at the thought of going into work.

Nothing was as satisfactory as putting that smug rat bastard of an FBI agent in his place. Really, she was looking forward to it.

She reasoned that he deserved it, what with the underhanded manner in which he had detained her at the airport. She had to admit, the man was resourceful and persistent. She had gone to great lengths to assure that she'd never have to see him again, but she supposed he'd have to be creative considering what he did for a living.

She hated to admit it, but his atypical approach to procuring her involvement in the investigation was admirable. And she did so admire creativity.

She still hated the contents of his abdominal cavity, however.

XXXXXXX

"It's hot, is what it is," Angela said, a dreamy sort of smile on her face. She bent down and made a few adjustments to her new toy, the price of which had made Goodman balk and Brennan smile. Brennan had gotten her way, of course. Angela had clearly stated what she needed with sound reasoning, so Brennan had ensured she got it. It was the least she could do. Angela's presence in the lab had added… something intangible. Ange would have quantified it as "less ickiness," but it was more like warmth. A touch of humanity, perhaps.

At any rate, Brennan wanted to thank her for her friendship and contribution by requisitioning a million dollar-plus theoretical and experimental technology. She hoped her gesture was understood for what it was.

"Do you need me to adjust the thermostat? I could have Zack call EVS," she said, puzzling when Angela laughed.

"No, Sweetie. Not for the temp. The fight you keep having with the FBI man is what's hot."

"Booth? Well, he's an assuming, arrogant, pushy -"

"- smug, delicious, forceful, manly, virile, well-trained -"

"Well-trained?" Brennan laughed. She ignored Angela's oft-repeated reminisces of what she considered to be Booth's attractive qualities.

"Honey, that man is too well-behaved to not be taken. It's obvious. He's got a girl. Although I don't think it's serious - he checks you out too much for it to be serious. Or maybe there's trouble in paradise." They were reclining on Angela's new couch, another requisitioned item Dr. Goodman had half-heartedly grumbled about.

"We… I don't know, Ange. He's frustrating. But, I must concede - he's very good."

"I bet."

"At his job, Angela."

"Hey, I saw you two together back in the day, Bren. You were all cutesy-wootsey and then tequila'd and then… BAM. Bickering and slapping and even hotter for each other's bones. So to speak," she said, gesturing at the walls of her office, the pieces of skeletons in Limbo on constant display.

"Ange, we -"

"Did not sleep together. I know. You should've though. I'm just sayin'." Angela smiled serenely and kicked Brennan's leg. "Admit it. You wanted to. Still do, right?"

"Ange -"

"Come on. No judgment here. I know you've got the tricky sitch goin' on at the homefront. But come, now. No consequences, no ramifications. Wouldn't you like to see him all naked and ready?"

"See who all naked and ready?" Both women turned to the doorway to observe the man in question, and while Brennan felt a near flush overtake her face, Angela got a wicked grin and nudged Brennan with her shoe.

"Well, hello, Agent Booth. You got a license to carry that thing?" Brennan was perpetually amused by both Angela's flirtatious behavior and Booth's discomfort at the innuendo.

"You have the results I need yet?" he said, smiling tightly at Angela and ignoring her question.

"Good morning to you, too, Booth. Yes, follow me." Brennan heaved off the couch and smiled as she strode away, her purposefully fast pace causing him to scurry after her. Let the games begin.

They spent the morning chasing leads. She certainly enjoyed getting out of the lab. It was different, really - being out in the world where people were inconsistent. She was fascinated by such simple interactions.

Watching Booth at work was thrilling; she could admit that much. His methods were sloppy, his focus unclear, but you couldn't argue with results. She found herself admiring his tactics, could see the proverbial wheels turning in his head. Without meaning to, she began comparing Booth to Peter - not physically, as Booth was clearly the superior there, but mentally. Peter was an empiricist, like herself. He was clear, analytical, focused on one thing at a time to get results… both in the lab and in bed. She couldn't help but wonder if Booth's sexual style was similar to his own work methodology. No clear focus, but passionate. Unyielding. Sometimes, relentless could be good.

But he was still quite irritating.

On the way back to the FBI building, her phone rang, and she saw that it was Peter. "Brennan." She sighed. "Peter, no. I can't. I'm not at the lab right now. Okay. Okay, fine. Yes. Yes, that would be sufficient."

She hung up the phone and turned to Booth. "I need to get back to the Jeffersonian."

"Now? We have to talk to Cullen and then see if we can track down Cleo Eller's bronze star."

"That will all have to wait."

"What the hell is so important that they need you at the lab?"

"If you must know," she said testily, "My son is there, waiting for his mother, because his father apparently doesn't understand the concept of spending-the-day-with-Daddy."

The SUV came to a screeching halt. "Wait. You have a kid?" Booth demanded.

"Yes," she said primly.

"You didn't think to _mention_ that somewhere along the line?"

"I believe I just did. Now wipe that dumbfounded look off your face and get me back to my lab."

"This is exactly what I need," Booth muttered, pulling back into traffic. "_Two_ women in my life with baby issues." He suddenly looked like he regretted giving her that particular piece of ammunition.

"Rest assured, Agent Booth, I have no issues about Parker," she replied, cool as ice. "So you can keep yourself fully occupied with this other woman's procreative concerns."

"Parker? And his father's name is Peter?"

"If you're going to make a Spiderman joke, save it."

"Oh-ho! Look who suddenly gets pop culture references!"

"You think you're the first person to make that connection? I knew you had an overdeveloped sense of self-importance, but this is really too much."

"I just thought you were too smart to find yourself an unwed mother."

She snorted. "Unwedded is exactly what I want to be. Peter and a series of other partners keep me sexually satisfied, and I am not yoked to some outmoded construct that one person can satisfy all my social and physical needs. And no one leaves dirty dishes in my sink."

"Wait a second. You're sleeping around?"

"This is an arrangement that suits me just fine. All of my partners" – he winced at the word – "are fully apprised of the limited extent of our entanglements. No one gets hurt."

"Geez, Bones. Way to be romantic."

"I have repeatedly requested that you not call me 'Bones.'"

They arrived at the Jeffersonian, and she let herself out of the car and headed for the building without so much as a glance over her shoulder. But she heard the other door slam and his quick footsteps chasing her into the building. Damnable man.

She swanned into her office and threw her bag in the general direction of her desk. Angela and Parker were sitting on the floor, having opened the wooden chest that doubled as a coffee table. She found it useful to keep a small selection of toys in her office, for the occasional times when she would have to bring her son to work with her.

"Hey, Sweetie - " Angela's greeting was drowned out by Parker's enthusiastic, "Mama!" Brennan grinned and shoved her coat at a slack-jawed Booth, scooping up the boy who was charging at her and kissing him on the cheek. Angela slipped out unnoticed.

Parker was talking quickly, his sweet, clear voice speaking fragmented sentences punctuated with giggles as she poked at his intercostal spaces. She settled down on the sofa with Parker in her lap, but she could feel Booth fidgeting behind her. When she turned to face him, she felt irritation at the stunned expression on his face. He didn't think she could be a good mother? She narrowed her eyes and decided to take the bovine by the cranial tusks.

"Booth, this is my son, Parker. Parker, meet my new work partner, Agent Booth."

"Hi." Parker waved. Booth appeared to find the child's steady eye contact unnerving. "My mama is an an-thro-paw-agist," he said solemnly, pronouncing the word as they'd practiced. "It means she studies people and bones." Parker looked to her for approval and when she nodded, he grinned at her pleased half-smile.

"Yes, I know," Booth said, a little dumbly.

"Wanna pway dinosaurs? I got wots of 'em."

"I _have_ a _lot_ of them, Parker," Brennan chided gently, and he repeated the correction without looking at her. He hopped up out of her lap and began to pull plastic figurines out of the chest.

"I'm… not really good with kids…" Booth hedged, shooting a nervous look at Brennan.

She rolled her eyes. "Just sit with him," she said, with less venom than she felt, since Parker was right there. Booth sat gingerly on the floor, folding his long legs under him and accepting the half-dozen dinosaurs Parker thrust in his direction.

While Parker was otherwise occupied, Brennan answered a few neglected emails, looking up after approximately ten minutes had passed. The two males were apparently absorbed in "taking over the world." A sudden fondness for Booth settled across her thoracic cavity, startling her. He was patiently allowing Parker to snatch toys from his hand and gamely making ridiculous animal sounds. He did not complain (as Peter would have) when Parker put a decapitated stegosaurus in his coat pocket.

She interrupted to say, "Agent Booth probably has to be going soon."

"This is actually kind of fun. Bones… he's incredible. He just used the words 'interspecies cooperation.' I hope you at least let the kid watch Sesame Street."

"Absolutely not. I don't approve of programs that encourage a lack of attention focus. Too much stimuli at once can cause sensory deficit, and I prefer that he study things which promote attention span. Like books," she said, finishing out typing a response. She looked up and saw Booths' open mouth and wide eyes. "What?"

"Geez, Bones. He's just a kid."

"A well-informed kid. He's playing appropriately, isn't he?"

"Aren't you worried he'll grow up to be a - oh, I dunno. A geek?"

"I've never understood the social stigma attached to intelligence and being academically oriented."

"You'd better be tall and handsome, rugrat. Don't worry, I'll show you how to toss a ball, how 'bout that?" he said, poking Parker in the belly and causing a fit of giggling.

"Well, I can concede that physical activity is important. It's part of my enrichment regimen, but not until he's four-and-a-half years of age."

"Bones," he said, shaking his head. "You are somethin' else." His phone beeped and he flipped it open. "Booth. Yes, sir. Right away," he said, his change to a more professional tone slightly awkward. He flipped his phone shut and slid it in his pocket, saying, "I've gotta get back to the office. You, uh, gonna be all right?"

"Yes, Booth. I've watched my son before," she said with amusement. Booth walked over and pressed a palm on her desk, leaning into her personal space and making her want to lean back, but she didn't. His proximity, the scent of his cologne, and the gleam in his eye made her heart rate increase. It was an assertive, predatory posture he struck, and she couldn't quite override her body's natural physiological response.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me you had a kid," he murmured.

"How is that pertinent to the investigation?" She hoped her breathing did not appear labored.

His voice dropped, growing husky. "I bared my soul to you, confessing my gambling problem, and you didn't think to respond with, 'I have a three-year-old'?"

"He was only two at the time," she murmured, allowing her eyes to sparkle up at him. "Besides, you were drunk."

"So were you," he whispered, with a glance over his shoulder at Parker. "It's just - if we're gonna be partners -"

"I thought you didn't like having a partner."

"This is different."

"How? You just called me your partner."

"Never mind." He shook his head, a look of frustration settling back between his brows. "I've got to go. He's a great kid, Bones."

"Yes, he is. Don't call me Bones."

"'Mama,' then?"

She scowled. His rakish smile threatened to make her smile in return, so she called out, "Say good-bye to Agent Booth, Parker."

"Grr," Parker said instead.

Booth waved. "'Bye, Parks."

"My name is Parker," the boy said seriously, his mother's disapproving wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows.

"Man, I can't give _anybody_ in this family a nickname?" With a shake of his head, he swaggered out of her office, and Brennan waited for the butterflies in her stomach to subside.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Mad love to adangeli for her beta assistance. You keep us on our toes, lady.**

Three days later, surrounded by gasoline fumes and the eerie light of tropical fish tanks, Brennan shot Ken Thompson in the leg. He was packed off to the hospital and, on the advice of counsel, confessed to the murder of Cleo Eller.

Booth was impressed that the entire squint squad attended Cleo's funeral. Not that he would ever tell them that, of course.

The next morning, Booth called Brennan about getting the close-out paperwork done.

"What paperwork?" she asked.

"Oh, that's right," he sneered. "You skipped out on the paperwork part of the Jemma Arrington case. This is the government, Bones. There's always paperwork."

"_Skipped out?_" she demanded. "I seem to recall being fired, dubiously rehired, and unceremoniously tossed aside once I solved the case for you. And don't call me Bones."

"Yeah, I spared you the pencil-pushing part of the job. You're welcome. But it's not a gift I plan to bestow with any regularity. So let's just get it over with. Between the two of us, we can probably get everything wrapped up by midnight or one."

"Tonight? I can't do tonight."

"Well, I can't do this weekend, and trust me, it's much better to get this out of the way before the next case comes along."

"Booth, I have responsibilities. I can't just stay at work until midnight on a whim. Parker's nanny goes home at six. She has children of her own. Don't you ever think about how your needs might affect others?"

Booth grimaced. Rebecca had delivered a very similar parting shot just a few days ago, mere hours after he moved back in. What _was_ it with women?

Brennan sighed into the phone. "I guess you could come over to my apartment. Parker will be in bed by eight. We can fill out your preposterous paperwork after that."

He knocked on her door later that evening with a big bag of takeout as a conciliatory gesture. He wasn't sure whether she would have eaten yet, and he had no idea what she liked, so he ordered an eclectic mix of Chinese food and figured that would cover it.

The apartment was spacious and quiet, with an interesting tribal-and-Fisher-Price decorating scheme. The kid was asleep, but evidence of him was everywhere: miniature shoes by the front door, brightly-colored silverware on the drain board, a bulky plastic easel in the living room. As they spread out their files at the oversized dining table, Booth inadvertently chose the chair with a booster seat strapped to it.

The hours slipped by as they sorted files, finalized forensic and police reports, and scrawled their names on the "redundant, bureaucratic nonsense," as she put it, required by the FBI and the federal prosecutors. As Booth packed up the files at the end of the marathon evening, Brennan offered him a beer, and he accepted. They toasted the completion of the paperwork and each took a grateful swallow.

Booth set his bottle on the table and leaned forward. Feeling saucy – or maybe just punchy – he said, "So, last year, it wasn't the tequila that was the problem, was it? It was your son. You couldn't bring me back here, and you couldn't stay out all night."

She gave a Mona Lisa smile. "If that helps you sleep better at night."

He chuckled and took another slug of his beer, feeling her eyes on him. Not an unpleasant sensation – like the spicy Kung Pao Chicken, her gaze sent little prickles of heat through his body.

"Who's the woman in your life with baby issues?" she asked, and he gave a little scowl. This wasn't a conversation he'd been looking forward to.

"Partners share things," she teased pointedly.

He tipped his beer bottle toward her in acknowledgment. "My girlfriend."

She let several heartbeats go by. "And what baby issues does she have?"

"Namely, that she wants a baby," he deadpanned, leaving out the bit about the un-taken birth control pills and his continued agony as he waited for her to mention that she'd gotten her period. He wasn't contemplating the other possible announcement she might make.

"You don't want children?" Brennan asked. "It's a biological imperative. All animals are programmed to procreate."

He picked at the label on his beer. "I always figured I'd end up with the Norman Rockwell life eventually – wife, kids, dog, house. Just… not now. I'm not sure she's the woman of my dreams, and I don't want to be stuck with a kid if things don't work out with the mom. You know?" he asked again.

She gave a snort. "Yeah. I know."

"Sorry." He was suddenly terribly embarrassed.

She waved her hand in mild forgiveness. "I didn't plan Parker. And it's very, very hard work sometimes. But he's an amazing little person, and I am fascinated by his physical and mental development. Watching him learn all the things we take for granted. For instance, as a newborn, he had to learn how to hear a sound off to one side of his head and know to look that direction. And watching him learn to put sentences together –" She shook her head. "'More apple, please.' Those were three separate ideas for him once, and now he can string them all together and express a coherent thought. And he's sociable and extremely engaging…"

He was touched, watching her rhapsodize about her son. She was trying to be clinical, but he couldn't help but enjoy her obvious maternal pride.

"How long until he can say the letter L?" Booth asked, hoping that didn't sound rude.

Brennan gave him a puzzled look. "There's no specific developmental milestone for pronunciation."

"I just would have thought that any child of Temperance Brennan's would have perfect language skills, you know, at birth."

"It turns out," she replied with an arched eyebrow and a wry smile, "that one only has so much control over one's offspring."

The evening grew later, and Booth finally hauled himself to his feet. As he walked toward his car, he found himself looking forward to the next evening of paperwork ahead of them. She was a challenge, his Bones was, and he was enjoying their constant jockeying for control.

XXXXXXXX

A week later, Rebecca got her period, and Booth was finally able to take a deep breath. She began making a point of taking her pill during the breakfast they shared each morning, but he could read the quiet sadness in her face each time. It was beginning to get oppressive.

He and Brennan settled into a nice rhythm of takeout and paperwork at the end of a case, always at her place while Parker slept down the hall. After one particularly satisfying arrest, he knocked on her door and heard a _thumpthumpthump_ on the other side of the door.

The first thing he saw when the door opened was a stark naked, three-foot blond pixie boy. The second thing he saw was Brennan with a diaper in her hand and a frustrated expression. She waved Booth in.

"Parker, you remember Mr. Booth. You met him at my lab a few weeks ago."

"Hi," Parker said, grinning with the mischief of a child up past his bedtime.

"Um, hi, Parker." Booth whispered to Brennan, "He doesn't have to call me Mr. Booth, you know."

"Honorific titles engender respect for one's elders," she retorted automatically. "Besides, everyone calls you by your last name."

"That's business-related. Hearing it from a little kid makes me feel really old."

She was too tired to argue. "How about Uncle Seeley?"

"Uh-oh," said Parker, and promptly peed on the floor.

Brennan closed her eyes, and Booth could practically hear her count to ten. When she opened her eyes, men large and small were looking at her with cautious expectation.

"It's fine, Parker. Easy to clean up. Next time, when you feel the need to urinate, we'll use the toilet. That's what big boys do. Uncle Seeley uses the toilet."

Booth recoiled, but Parker's head swiveled and the questioning eyes were now on him.

"Yep," was all Booth could manage.

"Booth, could you put Parker in the bathtub while I clean this up?"

Parker turned and pattered off down the hallway. Booth tossed his jacket and papers onto the sofa and followed, with some trepidation.

Booth ran a bath while Parker chattered about the plastic squirty animals lined up along the edge of the tub. "This one's a wion. This one's an ewephant. This one's a kangaroo. Kangaroos are mar-soo-pee-aws. This one's a rhinoceros. From the Greek 'rhino,' meaning 'nose.'"

"Like rhinoplasty," Booth said, as he hoisted the little guy into the tub. Parker looked amazed. "Rhinoplasty," Booth repeated, as he dunked the plastic rhino under the water and began to squeeze out all the air. "It's when people have plastic surgery on their noses."

Brennan arrived. "Mama, Unca Seewee is very smart!" Parker exclaimed.

His mother smiled, a little condescendingly, and knelt down next to the tub. "Yes, he is," she agreed politely.

Booth squirted Parker in the stomach with the rhino, and Parker squealed with glee. "You're playing with fire," Brennan smirked at Booth. "You'd better take off your watch."

Sure enough, Parker was maniacally filling the kangaroo with water, and Booth zipped off his tie just in time to get pelted in the chest with a tiny stream of warm water. Booth pretended to be shot, and fell back with a wail, clutching at his chest. Parker was thrilled.

"This is supposed to be relaxing time, in preparation for sleeping," Brennan scolded them both. "Not the time to get all wound up."

Booth hooked his forearms over the edge of the tub, and he and Parker played with the bath toys while Brennan gave her son a quick but thorough soaping. _This isn't so bad_, Booth caught himself thinking. It was nice to get a little lost in the simplicity of Parker's world, where everything was interesting and fun to play with. Of course, Booth hadn't been the one cleaning pee off the floor of the entryway. No, that job had fallen to the fascinating, infuriating, complex woman currently kneeling next to him.

Brennan popped the drain on the tub and Parker stood up to be toweled off. "I can take it from here," she said to Booth.

He gave her a little salute. "G'night, Parks. I hope I'll see you next time I'm over."

"Night-night, Unca Seewee. Can we pway with dinosaurs next time?"

"Sure thing, little man."

Booth wandered back to the front of the apartment and helped himself to a beer from the fridge. He was sorting the nearly-forgotten takeout when he heard a fumbling at the front door. The knob gave a jiggle, and he heard the staccato metallic clicking of a lock being picked.

He drew his weapon just as the front door popped open.

"Get your hands up! FBI!" he shouted, aiming squarely at the heart of a skinny thirty-something guy with Buddy Holly glasses, cargo shorts and a hideous Hawaiian shirt. _Not the outfit one usually wears to a home invasion_, said a little voice in the back of his head.

They guy went white as a sheet, and dropped the metrosexual shoulder bag he was carrying. "It's okay," the guy gasped, holding his hands in the air. "I have a key!"

"You have a key? Why'd you pick the lock?" Booth demanded.

"I mean, I _have_ a key, but I forgot it," the guy stammered.

"Booth." Brennan's voice was low and sure behind him. "Put the gun down."

Instinctively trusting her – she was his partner, and besides, it was her house – Booth lowered his weapon. Slightly. "Who are you?"

Brennan sighed. "This is Parker's father."


	4. Chapter 4

**thank you for reading this! and thank you cathmarchr, for your infinite patience. i ardently admire and love you.**

The look on Peter's face was without price - he seemed guilty, scared, and indignant, all at once. She'd seen him look embarrassed the two or three times he'd walked in when she had a male guest over at the apartment, and this look was similar to those times, but she'd never seen the fear before. It was almost irrational how much she was enjoying his dilated pupils and hard breath, but she had repeatedly asked him to warn her when he was coming at night in case she was entertaining another man. Perhaps this time he would learn to heed her.

Booth was standing by the doorway, managing to look nonchalant despite his rapt attention and pointed gun. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, the sinewy veins and stark musculature of his arms visible as he stood there; Brennan noticed that he was approximately five centimeters taller than Peter. She had only seen Booth like this, like a guardian, the few times in the field that her life had been endangered, and it thrilled her on some primal level. She understood it to be a female's attention drawn to an alpha male's role as both aggressor and protector.

Traditionally, Brennan was not attracted to blatant displays of force. Oh, yes, she definitely took note of a man's physical and mental attributes in order to subconsciously assign him a societal role in the community at large as any good anthropologist would do. But usually, Brennan only took notice of the individual when the male was filed into the upper echelons of human society - those of the intelligentsia, perhaps - the scientists, the healers, the theorists.

Booth was none of these.

Upon their initial meeting, she had automatically filed him into the "warrior" category. It had seemed right, especially when she learned of his background in the military. However, as she began to spend more time with him, she became puzzled (and therefore intrigued) by his defying her usual categorical structure. Despite his insistence on being her "gun," he was more of a peacekeeper than anything. As their shared time passed, she began to lean more toward prescribing him leader status, but it was an earned leadership rather than a prescribed leadership. He assumed the role naturally and seamlessly, and she soon learned that he was a man who earned respect rather than demanded it. Like any true leader would.

As a leader herself, she felt that they were well-suited as partners.

"Peter, this is Agent Booth, my partner," she said, smiling as Booth lowered the gun and holstered it. He then put his hand out and Peter warily shook it, his eyes flickering toward the now-hidden weapon. She thought there was a white-knuckled moment, a "stand-off," and she rolled her eyes at the predictable alpha male posturing.

"We didn't get a chance to meet that day at the lab," Booth said when Peter took a step back. The three of them stood there, staring at each other.

"Right. It's good to meet you, Agent Booth. Tempe seems to be in capable hands, so I'll just be going…"

"Was there something you needed, Peter?" she asked, amused because she could imagine why he stopped by. It wouldn't be the first (and most likely not the last) time.

"Um, it can wait. I'll see you later. And I'll knock next time," Peter said, and as suddenly as he had entered, he was out the door. Brennan smiled as Booth locked the deadbolt.

"So that's your baby daddy, huh? Do you just let him pop in whenever like that?" Booth strode over to the couch and reached for a file folder. She followed suit and sat cross-legged next to him.

"He's Parker's father, if that's what 'baby daddy' means. Angela uses that term all the time, and I find the poor grammar a bit appalling, but I suppose therein lies the appeal. Peter has access to my apartment for convenience. I assume he came here looking for sex again. I've been busy with our caseload lately, he isn't used to it." She smiled when Booth sputtered, spilling the water he had been drinking from a bottle.

"Geez, Bones," he said, swiping at the front of his shirt. "I can't believe you have such a cavalier attitude about… you know. I mean, if you guys are still sleeping together but you're not together…?"

"This arrangement suits me fine. No, we're not together. We tried that. It did not work. He's much too traditional. He actually suggested I cut back on my work when Parker was still an infant, as though a working woman is an untenable proposition. I cannot consider having a serious relationship with a person who thinks like that."

"Well, you guys have a kid together. It doesn't get more serious than that."

"I don't see how raising a child means we have to have a relationship together."

"You wouldn't, would you."

"You sound like him."

"Well, I just - look. Can we drop it? We've got work to do."

"I never picked it up. Let's get to your bureaucratic busy work, then."

After Booth left, she felt irritated. Who was he to question how she chose to live her life? Wasn't she doing well? Wasn't her son healthy, intelligent, and happy? Wasn't she? This agent was a difficult person. He was an anomaly to her, challenging her world and worse, making her question it. Just when she was finding admirable things about him, he went and made her reflect on choices she'd reconciled with years ago.

The next few weeks followed by setting a pattern - FBI field work by day, paperwork by night. She began to see Peter less and less. She was not certain if her work was keeping her too busy to have contact or if he was avoiding the apartment because he assumed Booth would be there.

As far as Booth went, she began to integrate him into her life, or rather, he insinuated himself in it. It hit her one day that most of her waking hours were spent in the FBI man's presence, and she often thought about him when he wasn't there.

He really was an intriguing person. Infuriating at times, but intriguing. He lived by a rigid set of standards that clashed with most of what she understood to be true. And yet… she couldn't help but like him. Nearly every day they had some sort of ideological disagreement - Angela began to refer to it as "the hot verbal foreplay deathmatch of the century" - but as easily as Booth chastised her for her blunt observations, he also eased her interactions with people, and while she didn't say so, she appreciated it. Somewhere in the middle of solving horrible crimes and having enjoyable disagreements about love, sex, and religion, he had become a friend.

"Parker is turning four this weekend," she announced one morning when he picked her up to go to the scene of a crime.

"Wow, already?"

"Yes. We're having a birthday party for him at my apartment. Will you come?" For some illogical reason, she was nervous about asking him. She knew that he was warming up to Parker and she thought that he would come, but the unpleasant possibility hung there - that he might say no. She didn't want him to say no.

"Yeah, of course I'll be there. He's a great kid, Bones."

"Yes. I know. You can… you can even bring Rebecca," she said, surprised at her own offer but sticking to it. She had to admit to herself that she was very curious about Booth's girlfriend. He never volunteered much information about her, and Brennan was keen to meet the woman that Booth chosen to "live in sin" with. ("How can you claim to be a Catholic and not prescribe to all tenets of the Catholic philosophy?") What was the woman like? All Brennan knew of her was that she wanted kids, worked for a prestigious law firm, and sent him text messages that made him frown or mutter under his breath. Was she tall? Blonde? Pretty? She was probably beautiful. Men like Booth dated beautiful women, she was certain of it.

"Yeah, that's… Uh, I'm sure Rebecca would love to come." He appeared uncomfortable, and she didn't know why. Did he think Rebecca wouldn't like to come?

"Only if she wants to."

"Nah, we'll be there." He smiled at her, though it didn't reach his eyes. They arrived at the scene and it was down to business from there.

XXXXX

The day of the party arrived, and Brennan was nervous. Angela had volunteered to help plan and set up, and Brennan discovered she was anxious for things to go well. She had never had a party for him before, usually opting to celebrate by taking him to the zoo or the Jeffersonian and having dinner with Peter's parents, neither of whom appeared to like her very much. Both were coming to the party, but there would be enough people there to keep them as far from her as possible.

"Aww, would you just look at these decorations?" Angela had been in charge of purchasing plates and cups, but Brennan hadn't seen the need to spend such outrageous amounts of money on environmentally unsound paper plates depicting the dinosaurs her son loved so much. Angela had put her hands on her hips and glared, insisting in a slightly chastising tone that they were necessary. "Hodgins is bringing the balloons by in an hour or so."

"Angela, this stuff is ridiculous. Parker doesn't need this, he-"

"Loves dinosaurs and is getting dinosaurs. We've been over this, Sweetie. Now would you just look at this cake? Oh my God, it's adorable." Her friend was flitting about the apartment, arranging and rearranging furniture to "make room," and Brennan was so amused that she allowed it, even though she didn't think it was necessary.

Peter arrived with Parker a short while later, and Brennan spent the time before the party started by chasing the boy around, preventing him from playing with the toy dinosaurs Angela had set up and avoiding Peter who seemed to be angling for a conversation. She was simply too anxious about having so many people over to deal with whatever it was he wanted to talk about.

The guest began to arrive - Parker's nanny Jennifer, Peter's parents and brother along with his kids, Zack and that Naomi person, Dr. Goodman and his family. Brennan found herself wondering when (if?) Booth would arrive.

Then he was there, smiling and carrying a large, brightly-wrapped box, with a woman in tow.

"Heya, Bones. Dr. Temperance Brennan, I'd like you to meet my, uh - Rebecca. Rebecca Stinson."

"Dr. Brennan, it's nice to finally meet you."

Brennan smiled while she regarded Booth's girlfriend. Yes, she had been right. The woman was attractive in that typical way. Slim, blonde, average height, symmetrical features. Excellent posture, well-dressed.

"Unca Seewey!" Parker nearly screamed his enthusiasm as he ran across the room to the door, throwing himself at an amused Agent Booth, who barely had time to hand Brennan the gift before being toppled over by her exuberant son.

"Happy birthday, Parks," he said, poking Parker in the umbilicus and grinning at his giggle. "I'd like you to meet my friend, Rebecca."

"Hello!" Parker said, putting his hand out, which a startled Rebecca took and shook awkwardly. "It's my birthday today!"

"I know," she replied, taking a step back and eyeing the two males, the shorter of whom had grabbed Booth's hand and was dragging him away, presumably in search of something he wanted to show him. The two women stood there, staring at one another. Brennan was suddenly at a loss for words, something that did not often happen.

"Thank you for inviting us," Rebecca finally said, shifting from left to right, her hands fidgeting with the straps of her purse. "All I've been hearing about for the last few months is how smart Parker and his mother are."

"Yes. His parents are both geniuses, so the odds that he would have a similar mental capacity were high." Brennan did not understand Rebecca's laughter or the look she gave when she stopped.

"Oh, you were - wow. Booth was right," she said, shifting her eyes to search the room. "I'm just going to go see what trouble they're getting into." Rebecca left Brennan standing there, puzzled at the interaction. She took a deep breath and turned to see that the party - her son's first real party - went off without a hitch.


	5. Chapter 5

**thank you, i've been getting some lovely messages about this story. on with the party…**

Brennan's apartment was packed to the gills with people, food, and garishly wrapped birthday presents. Angela had pushed all the furniture back against the walls and dragged the dining room chairs into the living room, but many people still ended up sitting on the floor, balancing their paper plates on their knees and trying to keep their cups of soda from being knocked over by enthusiastic kids. Parker flirted madly with Dr. Goodman's daughters and got into several wrestling matches with his cousins from Peter's side.

Parker only grew wilder as he tore through the huge stack of gifts. Booth couldn't help but notice that the childless adults all brought battery-operated toys that made lots of noise, while the parents in the room brought Parker books and non-electronic toys. Perhaps they knew something he didn't…?

Brennan cut the cake and made sure that the birthday boy got the first slice, a corner piece with lots of frosting. Angela had brought paints and brushes with her, and offered face painting to all who were interested. The children were thrilled. Even Dr. Goodman got into the spirit, and Angela painted an admirable sphinx on his forehead.

"Parker, are you getting tired?" Booth heard Brennan ask over the din of the party. From his spot on the couch, Booth caught a glimpse of his partner, who had a dolphin painted across one elegant cheekbone.

"NO!" Parker insisted, but his glazed, slightly unfocused eyes told a different story.

Booth chuckled and put his hand on Rebecca's knee. "I'm going to get a soda. You want one?"

"Sure," she said, looking slightly uncomfortable. She hadn't left his side all afternoon. "I could come with you," she offered.

"Nah, just relax. Finish my cake." He winked at her and stood up.

Family chaos was nice sometimes, he reflected as he reached for two root beers from the back right side of the fridge. Bones had put out big bottles of Sprite on the counter, but Booth knew where she secretly stashed the good stuff. As he dug past the yogurt in search of his soda, he suddenly realized that he and Brennan were the only ones who knew it was back there. It was strange to be more familiar with her apartment than anyone else at the party, even the father of her son.

Returning to the living room, he paused in the doorway to take in the barely-controlled pandemonium. He couldn't help but smile. For a guy that didn't have a lot of family – at least, family that didn't make him furious – Booth felt oddly at home in this moment. Someone had upended their cake onto the carpet, and Parker's nanny was on all fours, trying to scrub it out. Goodman's girls were playing with the wooden masks that Brennan kept on a bookshelf, and Parker's cousins were helping Brennan stuff wrapping paper into trash bags.

As he watched Brennan move about the party, he couldn't help but feel oddly… spousal toward her. He'd spent countless hours with her, in the field and in her home. He found himself relying on her, both as a work partner and as a friend. She was so damn smart, and driven, and she pushed him to be better than he was. He admired her, he _liked_ her. Sure, she drove him nuts sometimes, but in a way that he understood deep down only drew him closer to her.

It wasn't all cerebral, either, this attraction he felt to her. They'd had plenty of fights over the past months that nearly ended with him backing her into a wall and kissing the hell out of her, and he'd barely managed to keep himself in check. Perhaps that was a calculated decision to not risk giving her the upper hand. Perhaps it was loyalty to Rebecca. Or perhaps he was just a chickenshit coward.

He had the opportunity to exercise this oft-employed self-control again when Brennan looked up at him from across the room. She gave him an open, happy smile, and his traitorous mind suddenly fast-forwarded to an empty apartment with birthday party flotsam everywhere, Parker asleep, and him whooshing her down the hallway for languorous, silly, giggling sex.

Damn. What was it about her that kept him teetering so dangerously on the edge of control? He was reminded of that gut certainty he'd felt the first moment he'd laid eyes on her – _She's the one; she's forever_. But too much crap had gotten in the way. That sentiment couldn't be right.

He forced himself to smile back at her and focus on the party.

Angela had taken Booth's spot on the sofa, and Booth was grateful to see how hard Angela was working to make his girlfriend feel welcome. Things still weren't right between them after birth-control-gate, and he was touched to see Angela gushing over Rebecca's bracelet and asking about her job. At least someone could make Rebecca feel comfortable.

Booth ambled over and gave one of the root beers to Rebecca. She gave him an odd, searching look as she took it from him. Before she could say anything, though, Angela took both her hands and begged to paint her face. Rebecca flushed a little but shyly agreed.

Amused and content, Booth wandered back to the relative peace of the doorway and leaned against the frame to watch the party. He watched as Ange painted a butterfly across the bridge of Rebecca's nose, with its wings sweeping out across her cheeks. He caught her eye and smiled, raising his soda in a silent toast to her new temporary tattoo. She grinned back at him, the first un-self-conscious smile he'd seen from her in a very long time.

He looked down as Parker practically staggered over to him. The kid looked woozy from sugar overdose, and his hair was matted and sweaty. "Are you having a good birthday, Parks?" Booth asked. Parker nodded mutely.

The whole room grew spontaneously quiet just as Peter called out, "Parker, let's play with your new Legos." All eyes turned to the boy, who had been lapping up attention and playing to the crowd all afternoon. But now, he was just too tired. He'd been the center of attention long enough, and he just wanted all these people to go away. He screwed his face into a melodramatic pout and turned away from his father, flinging himself at Booth instead.

For an awful moment, Booth stood frozen with an unhappy child burying his face in his thigh, and everyone in the room staring at him. Peter looked ready to spit daggers. Angela's mouth fell open in a silent guffaw. Rebecca looked fiercely proud, a reaction Booth would have to analyze later.

But the person who made his blood pound was Brennan, who stood at the back of the room with her head tilted, studying him. Measuring. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and he could feel her mental calipers taking stock of how her son fit against him, how he fit into this apartment. Into her life.

_Oh, I fit here_, came his unbidden thought.

Determined to prove something, he stooped slightly to rub Parker's back. "C'mon, Parks, it's Legos. Legos are awesome. Let's all play." Parker tipped his head up, and Booth gave him a reassuring smile. "Put your feet on my shoe, and hold on tight," Booth instructed, and the boy climbed up onto his leg and held on for dear life. Booth gave an exaggerated groan as he dragged a giggling Parker to the center of the room. They settled on the floor with Peter and began to sort through the brightly-colored bricks.

"There is nothing more painful than stepping on a Lego in your bare feet," Peter's mother cheerfully observed out loud, and the room went tentatively back to normal.

XXXXXXXXX

Later, Booth and Rebecca were stuck in the permanent traffic that clogged the Beltway around Washington. The sun was setting, and was currently at that painful angle that shone directly into Booth's eyes. He fiddled with his sunglasses and the sun visor, but nothing helped.

"You are good with Parker," Rebecca said, breaking into his thoughts.

Booth shrugged and gave a lopsided smile. "He's an easy kid. I'm like an uncle – I get to do fun stuff with him, but I don't have to deal with any of the crap. That's all Bones' problem."

"What kind of fun stuff?" she asked. He missed her puzzled tone.

"You know, play with toys, read books, bathtime. I was thinking about getting him a water pistol, but Bones -"

"I didn't realize all those late nights of paperwork happened at Dr. Brennan's apartment," Rebecca said stiffly. Her sharp tone contrasted freakishly with the whimsical butterfly still painted across her nose.

Booth cringed. He hadn't exactly meant to lie, but he had kind of neglected to specify where he was when the paperwork was being done. If she thought he was in his office, he'd been careful not to disabuse her of that notion.

He played it cool. "She has to be home by six to let the nanny go home. It's just more convenient to do it at her place. Sometimes, when I get there, the kid's already asleep, but sometimes he's awake. So I play with him."

"Are you ready to have a baby?" she asked bluntly.

Ughhhhhh. "I don't know, Rebecca," he sighed, scratching an eyebrow.

"God DAMMIT, Seeley," she exploded. "I want to get married. I want to have kids. I am thirty-one years old. You can be all Tony Randall and spawn babies until the day you die, but I am on a deadline here. We have known each other for three years, been together for two. And it's been fun, don't get me wrong, but it is time to shit or get off the pot."

"How romantic," he snarled at her. "I'm so glad to hear you liken our relationship to taking a crap."

"How much longer is it going to take? How much more time could you possibly need? Are you waiting until you get to know me a little better?" She took a deep breath. "We're not kids any more. Am I the one, Seeley? Are we going to spend the rest of our lives together? If you're still not sure after all this time, then the answer has to be no, right?"

"I'm not sure," he whispered. She deflated, crumpling back against her seat and beginning to cry. "Rebecca, I'm sorry…"

"Save it," she hissed. She reached up to wipe her tears away and looked at the blue paint that came away on her fingertips. "Fuck," she muttered. "I must look like such a fool."

"No, you don't," he said softly, reaching for her hand. She gave a snort and looked away, but she let him twine his fingers in hers.

Traffic and time crawled along. Rebecca finally withdrew her hand from his and began to speak, in a clear, calm voice.

"You can have the apartment, if you want it. It's too far away from my office, anyway. I'll stay with my sister until I find a new place. Once I get settled, I'll come back and take some of the furniture."

"The apartment's too big for one person. I'll move out, too." His voice sounded bizarrely hollow, even to himself.

"The landlord needs thirty days' notice to terminate the lease," she reminded him simply, and he was chilled to discover that he didn't have anything else to say to her.

As the car crept forward in silence, Booth began to think about the episode of Iron Chef he'd seen a few weeks ago. One of the chefs had butchered a lamb, on camera. The animal was already dead and skinned, of course, but Booth had been mesmerized as the chef carved it up into edible bits. The sharp blade of the knife sliced effortlessly through tender pink meat, as if it were cutting something no tougher than Jell-O. The chef worked fast, scraping meat away from the tiny ribs to reveal a gleaming white bone at the end of every chop.

What had been frolicking and fun-loving was now reduced to a filleted carcass, hunks of raw meat and gleaming entrails. It was all over so quickly, so bloodlessly. Booth mourned the ease with which he and Rebecca came apart. Love should be messy.

He pulled the car up to the curb in front of their building, but made no move to turn it off. "I'm just gonna… go get a drink or something," he said, staring out the windshield.

"Sure," she murmured. "I'll probably be gone when you get back." She popped her door open and climbed out. She turned back, leaning down to speak with him, clutching at the front of her dress so her breasts wouldn't be exposed. "Good night. And… thanks."

He gave her an incredulous stare, his brows coming together and his mouth dropping open. She rolled her eyes and slammed the door before he could speak. He did not wait to make sure she got in the front door.

XXXXX

But Booth didn't feel like sitting alone at a bar. He'd just nurse a scotch and watch close-captioned TV to kill time while his girlfriend – ex-girlfriend – packed a suitcase and went to her sister's.

He didn't want to be alone. He wanted somebody to talk to. Somebody who would let him avoid talking about the obvious. He'd talk about hockey instead, and tell terrible jokes and pretend that his home, uncomfortable as it was, wasn't being cleaved in two as he spoke. He'd…

Compartmentalize.

An hour later, he lifted a hand to knock on Brennan's apartment door. She opened it and looked at him with surprise.

"Did you forget something? I did find a pair of somebody's sunglasses -"

"No, no. I'm sorry, I should have called first. I just… wondered if you needed any help cleaning up."

"Oh…" She looked momentarily confused. "Angela and Jennifer helped me put the furniture back, and the plates and cups were all disposable. So I'm in pretty good shape."

"Yeah, okay." He ran a hand through his hair and took a step back. "Sorry to bother you, then."

"Do you want to take some of the leftovers?" Her voice stopped his retreat, and he looked up into her crystalline eyes. "There's so much food. Parker and I will never be able to eat it all." She opened the door wider in invitation.

He stepped across the threshold, suddenly hating himself. Why was he here? What was he looking for? She headed to the kitchen, drawing him along with her casual, "Would you like another slice of cake?"

The counters were covered with trays of barbequed chicken breasts, coleslaw, cold ravioli, and dinner rolls. He accepted the proffered slice of sticky sweet birthday cake, leaning one hip against the counter. He licked his fork carefully clean after each bite. She puttered around the kitchen, screwing lids back on two-liter bottles and consolidating the mess.

"Thanks for coming today," she said. "Parker really loved having you here."

"Did he?" Booth asked, his voice low. Brennan quirked an eyebrow at him and nodded. "It was a nice party."

"I think he had a good time," she said, her voice a little uneven.

"Of course he did," Booth replied. When she didn't respond, he asked, "Everything okay?"

She sighed and turned her back to him as she spooned coleslaw into a Tupperware container. "I had an unpleasant conversation with Peter this afternoon," she admitted. "He wanted to set up an evening when he could come over and spend the night, and…" She made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat.

He slid his half-slice of cake onto the counter and stepped behind her. "One of your sex dates?" he growled, indignant without any right to be.

She turned, her eyes flashing. "Judge not, lest ye be judged," she snapped, hitting him where it hurt. "It works for me. At least, it used to work for me." Suddenly, she couldn't quite meet his eye. "I have no problem turning Peter down when I'm not in the mood, when there's an absence of the biological need for sex. But today, it was more than that. I was actually repulsed by the idea of sleeping with him. That's never happened before. We've always been sexually compatible."

He ducked his head a bit, forcing her to look him in the face. "Something's different," she whispered.

A warm glow bloomed in his heart, his head, his gut, all at once. In that moment – one of utter domesticity, pressing her against the kitchen counter – everything in the universe seemed to align. His soul was perfectly peaceful. Content. Fulfilled.

"I know," he whispered. "I knew, right from the beginning."

He hovered there, a split second, before leaning in and kissing her. Her lips were soft and supple, and he tilted his head and leaned her back into the countertop. Firecrackers went off in his belly as her arms wound around his neck and she kissed him back for all she was worth.

It was every bit as spectacular as that tequila-soaked kiss in the rain, way back when. He teased her lips apart and stroked her tongue with his own. She quivered against him, her breasts rubbing deliciously against his chest.

He heard a little squeak that, in the dizziness of his desire, he could not and did not try to place. He was hungry for her – ravenous. Carnal heat licked at his fingers, his tongue, and god knows, at his cock.

"_Mama?_"

Suddenly, her hands were at his chest, shoving him backwards. He blinked, sputtered. Gasping, he whirled to find a bug-eyed little Parker staring at him. "Hey, Parks," he offered weakly, struggling to control his breathing.

Brennan wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and came up looking composed. "Parker, you ought to be in bed," she said evenly. "And you," she turned to Booth, "Should probably go."


	6. Chapter 6

**thanks for sticking around, and thanks to adangeli for all of the betawork!**

**so, how did the finale make you feel? if you want a really nice rant, you can always hit me up for it. lol (that's from wtvoc)**

Brennan was no expert on this particular matter, but the party had been a success. It was funny how important it had become to her; she knew, intellectually, it wouldn't matter to Parker, that he would only have dim recollections of it later in life, but she was glad that things had gone off without a hitch.

Well, for the most part.

Parker's near meltdown was expected and frankly, she had been surprised (and proud) that he had lasted as long as he did. She had seen the signs - the impending crankiness, the whining when Angela had approached him to blow out his candles ("because it's a time-honored tradition to mark the passage of time, little Brennan"), the reluctance to open every single gift in lieu of playing with the already-opened ones. She was hesitant to cut the party short, though. Seeing her friends and coworkers coming to her apartment and celebrating her child had filled her with a kind of satisfaction that made her regret not having done it sooner.

And then Parker had chosen Booth's comfort over Peter's.

She felt guilty in that moment. As if there had been some sort of failing in their child's upbringing to make him behave so - what? Poorly? Irrationally?

"He's four, Tempe. I'm fine," Peter had sighed later, but even Brennan knew the man was posturing, possibly for her benefit. "Parker sees a lot of Booth and he likes the guy. It's perfectly natural for him to seek comfort from an adult he trusts." Peter had smoothed Parker's curls, his small face innocent and sweet as he slept the excitement away, dead to the world in that way children have because they do not know or understand the larger things going on around them.

"So, uh. How tired are you?" Peter's immediate shift in tone was so true to his character - off one moment, on the next. He was too similar to her. Over the years, she had attempted to analyze what it was about him that made for an incompatible partner, and she had only recently come to the conclusion that he was too predictable - to put up with someone she could easily read was… boring. The sex, while not boring, was also predictable.

She definitely needed a "change of scenery," to use a phrase she had heard somewhere.

"Not tonight, Peter."

Angela had remained to help clear up the mess, and Brennan was almost relieved – almost - when Ange had started up on her favorite subject: teasing Brennan about Agent Booth.

"So, it's pretty obvious Booth knows his way around your place, huh," she said, pouring half-full red cups of soda down the drain.

"We do a lot of paperwork here, yes," Brennan affirmed warily.

"The girlfriend is pretty."

"She is."

"Seems like the kind of girl he'd be with. Pretty, blonde, high-maintenance."

"What does that mean, anyway?"

"What, high maintenance? That she has a standing appointment with a colorist. So, Booth and Parker get along well."

"Yes. I imagine it's because they have similar temperaments."

Angela laughed. "Are you saying he's like a three-year-old?"

"Four. At times, yes," Brennan grinned, righting some misplaced tribal masks on their display stand.

"Was Peter pissed? He glares at Booth, you know."

"What? He does not."

"Sure he does. It's that 'I'm being replaced' thing guys do when someone's stepping in on their turf." Ange rinsed off her hands and gave Brennan a piercing stare.

"I am not a land mass, Angela. And there's nothing to replace," Brennan huffed. Angela smiled and dumped an armful of plates in the trashcan.

"Sure. Right. When was the last time you had sex?"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"You're kidding me, right?"

"No. I'm not. It's been… it's been, oh…" She tried to recall and was slightly dismayed to learn she was unable to identify the exact date. "Several weeks." Or… good grief, possibly even months.

"Mm hmm. Because Special Agent Hotpants has been over too much? Too busy 'doing paperwork', were we?"

"We were doing paperwork," Brennan said, somewhat defensively.

"Right. Does Peter know this?"

"Of course he does."

"You sure? Sweetie, look. You're my best friend. And I don't want you to get pissed here, but you should know this. Everyone but the two of you can see what's going on here."

"Peter and I have always known exactly-"

"Not between you and Peter. You and Booth."

"Nothing is going on with me and Booth."

"Not yet."

"Not ever."

"Brennan," Angela sighed, putting her elbows on the counter and leaning forward. Brennan was across from her, scrubbing at what appeared to be dried frosting. "Remember a zillion years ago when you kissed and told me about the tongue prowess of one Special Agent Booth?"

"Ange -"

"And how you had decided not to sleep with him because you had a kid and that it wasn't a responsible decision to make while inebriated?"

Brennan sighed in defeat. "And?"

"Okay, time to come clean with Miss Angela. Have you kissed him since then?"

"Of course not. We're partners."

"It hasn't even come up."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Why would it?"

"Brennan. A blind man could see you guys have the hots for each other."

"That does not make sense. There is a contradiction inherent in your -"

"Brennan. Stop. The guy is hot. Fun. He's got a thing for you. He loves your kid. I mean, really, Sweetie. What more can you ask for?"

"He has a girlfriend, Angela." Brennan looked down at the spot she had been scrubbing and was surprised to discover that the surface was clean, unmarred; she did not know how long she had been scratching at the surface with no real blemish in the way. "We're also partners. That would… complicate things."

"Oh, honey. Things _are_ complicated." Angela crossed her arms across her chest. "Look, tell me right here and right now that you're not attracted to the guy and I'll drop it."

Brennan didn't want to lie. "That's not the issue."

"Sure it is."

"He's extremely appealing to the eye."

"Mm hmm." Angela grinned and lifted an eyebrow.

"I - I don't think of him in that way. We work well together. That's all."

"Okay." Angela paused a moment and looked pensively off in the distance. "You know, I haven't had sex in a while."

The smooth muscle in Brennan's peritoneal cavity squeezed uncomfortably. She must have had too much processed food.

"Really."

"So you're telling me you wouldn't be bothered if I made the moves on Booth?"

Brennan swallowed compulsively. Her mouth had gone dry.

"No." Probably not.

"Uh huh."

They did a bit more cleaning in the kitchen without further discussion, and Brennan assured Angela that she could finish the rest. She wanted to be alone in the sanctuary of her house.

Angela's questions had seemed to open up a flood of inquiry. Brennan had tidied the living room, musing over the past few weeks with Booth. As she straightened up the sofa cushions, a non-specific memory of the two of them sitting there, laughing over Booth trying to pronounce the word "trocanter," making her smile. He had continued to pronounce it poorly and had eventually started saying it in a horrendous Irish/Scottish accent, his eyebrows waggling while she did her best not to laugh. He really could be amusing from time to time.

When her reminiscing was interrupted by the knock on the door, she was almost unsurprised that he was standing there, looking both lost and agitated. Something bad had happened. She knew him well enough to know that, but she was perplexed as to why. He had seemed fine when he left.

He walked in and seemed so comfortable, so relaxed, and it dawned on her, perhaps not for the first time, that he fit there. In her apartment. He had integrated himself into her life, and she was okay with it. Despite Angela's oft-repeated assurances that men and women couldn't be "just friends," they were.

Then he had kissed her.

Temperance Brennan was used to misinterpreting the motivations behind human actions. But there was no way to ignore the meaning behind a kiss on the mouth. It was almost always an unequivocal sex invitation. She herself had used it many times before to great success.

The instant his mouth brushed against hers, her mind spewed out the words she had given Angela only an hour before, the reasons it was a bad idea.

Her body, however, said, "Yes." And "More."

And "Now."

There was no tequila, no rain, no getting fired to fuel the kiss. It was wanting, plain and simple. She wanted it. She hadn't realized how much. Yes, she was attracted to Agent Booth. But it wasn't merely that. It was some unidentifiable thing - biology, perhaps; two matching chemistries colliding with her very rational need to say no.

Human history is full of the body's desires overcoming the brain's rationalizations. As an anthropologist, she could concede that she was not necessarily above all of human history.

"_Mama_?"

Thankfully, Parker saved her from further irrational behavior by acting as a figurative barrier - was that what cock blocking meant? - and forcing her to take a step back.

"You should probably go."

She hated confusion. She chanced looking up into his face and the dark desire she saw there was thrilling. A promise of better things, fun and delicious things. His head tilted and he put his hands on his hips.

"No."

"Hi, Unca Seewey. Were you kissing Mama?"

"I was, Parks."

"Okay. I'm goin' back to bed."

She chuckled, slightly amazed at her son's utter lack of curiosity at her very curious behavior. He simply accepted it. Should she take her cues from a four-year-old?

Using it as a temporary excuse to walk away, she followed Parker back to his room and tucked him back into bed.

"'Night, Mama."

"Good night, Parker." She slowly backed out of his room, her mind oddly blank as she stood there and watched him fall asleep once again.

Quit stalling, Bren. Her thoughts took on Angela's voice, chiding her from afar.

Taking a deep breath, she turned and walked back to the kitchen. Booth was standing just as she left him, the questioning look in his eyes punctuated by his almost challenging stance.

"I kissed you." His voice was even, unwavering.

"Yes," she sighed.

"You kissed me back."

"We shouldn't -"

"Don't. Don't do that." His tone darkened, his eyebrows coming together, the deep crease in his brow suggesting anger. Why was he so angry? She was simply trying to -

To what?

"Temperance," he said, and it sounded wrong. He didn't call her Temperance. He called her Bones.

"Booth," she said softly, taking a step closer but still maintaining a meter or so of space. "What happened before you got here?"

His now troubled eyes met hers and then looked down, his shoulders slumping slightly. Guilt? Was that guilt?

"I - Rebecca and I had an argument. We, uh. We broke up."

"Ah." Mystery solved. She felt a tight clenching of her muscles. "So you came here to what, have rebound intercourse with me?" She was instantly defensive.

"No. No! I just… sort of found myself coming here. To talk, or - I dunno." He rubbed his hand across his head, his chin ducking down, still not meeting her eyes.

"I'm not some girl you can just come to for sex, Booth," she said, her anger rising. And to think she had actually been considering him as a viable candidate for – well, sex. _Just-sex_ sex. Why was she now indignant at the idea that he was here for the same? It was irrational, but she was stung by the implication that he expected her to welcome him with open legs minutes after he broke up with his girlfriend. A girlfriend who, incidentally, had been sitting on Brennan's very sofa just a few hours ago!

Booth broke into her thoughts. "That's not - look. This has been coming on for some time. Rebecca and I have been on this downward spiral, and I -"

"Thought that since I almost slept with you once that I'd do it again? Well, no. It's not going to happen, Booth." She turned away and lifted the handle on her faucet, focusing on the soft spray of the water. She chose to ignore the tightening in her stomach at her own words.

"Look, Bones," he said, and she absolutely hated the slight thrill she felt at hearing the ridiculous nickname again. "I just… Ah, fuck it. This was a bad idea." They stood there, continuing to not face each other, the water filling the silence in her kitchen. After several seconds, he spoke again. "I'm sorry. I was feeling shitty and… you make me feel better, you know. I needed that. So… thanks, I guess." She heard the squeak of his shoes on the tile and his footsteps as he walked away. The door clicked softly as he let himself out.

For an indeterminate amount of time (although realistically, it was most likely only thirty seconds) she stood there, watching the clean and even spray of water, following the sharp lines from the spout to the sink. Out of nowhere a song started playing in her head, one she vaguely recalled from her childhood. _She said, 'Honey, take me dancing,' but they ended up by sleeping in a doorway._ She turned the water off and walked to her bedroom, lying down without changing into pajamas or covering herself with a blanket. She laid there, her mind curiously blank, and the next thing she knew, her alarm was buzzing. A new day had begun.


End file.
